


the art of restaurant acquisition (or, how volubilis became the second best chef ever)

by orphan_account



Category: Cambridge Latin Course
Genre: Fine Dining, dubious shakespeare references, i really don't know anything about roman britain, some british side characters, this was a school project i don't just write clc fanfiction for my own pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You know,” Grumio said one night, “I’ve trained many young chefs in my time, but I believe you’re my greatest student. You have great potential, Volubilis, my boy. You are almost done with your training. Once you become a master, then you must go to Rome and establish a restaurant.”Volubilis just wants to run his McDomhnall's.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	the art of restaurant acquisition (or, how volubilis became the second best chef ever)

It was a horrible day in Britannia, and not because it was raining. Three figures stood wetly on the path leading away from Salvius’ farm. Only one of them was truly concerned about the proceedings. 

“Where will he go?” Philus said to Bregans and Varica. “I support his decision to leave, obviously, but it is without Salvius’ knowledge or consent, so…”

As Philus prattled on, Bregans idly wondered the same thing. He was, quite honestly, jealous. He thought of the last time he’d been around Volubilis, when they were preparing for the arrival of Quintus, and the Egyptian cook did nothing but complain and order him around. He wished more than anything that he’d thought of running away himself. But that would unfortunately require thinking, so Bregans did not do it. Varica, meanwhile, also ignored Philus in favor of scraping dirt out of his fingernails. Then Domitilla and the twins appeared on the path, and behind them at a distance strode Volubilis.

The esteemed Egyptian cook stopped at the send-off party that had gathered at the edge of the farm. He surveyed the small group, which had gone silent at his approach (even Philus had stopped talking). The silence became uncomfortable before Volubilis adjusted the large bag over his shoulder and cleared his throat.

“Valete, friends,” he said. “I’m off now. And remember. Don’t tell Salvius what I’ve done.”

“But if you think about it,” said Anti-Loquax, “surely he’ll figure it out as soon as he realizes you’re gone, then he’ll go looking for you.”

“Well, yes, but I want to get a head start. I’d like to be crossing the channel by nightfall.”

“Are you going to swim?” Bregans asked.

“No, Bregans, you caudex. I am not going to swim,” Volubilis replied. “Well, pip pip, everyone. I’ll remember you all when I’m the executive chef of a V star restaurant in Rome.”

Then he pushed through the group and started walking. They all watched him go, staring in awe and jealousy. How they all wished they could be as brave as Volubilis. No one was actually happy that he was leaving; there would be no more delicious garum when he had gone away. Yes, even though he could be terribly condescending at times, his famed garum was also taking its leave from the farm, and that reason alone was worthy of grief.

“Look at me, I’m Volubilis the executive chef,” Domitilla mocked. 

“Stop that,” Philus told her. “We should wish him well. He’ll need a miracle from Sulis Herself if he wants to escape.”

“Yeah, a miracle,” Bregans said. He was also considering the sacred baths. But what he truly meant to do involved no such thing as a blessing. He waited until Volubilis was most definitely gone, then he sought out Philus’ abode.

“Philus,” Bregans called, banging on the door. “Philus, are you awake? Philus! Open up!”

“What is it?” Philus said once he opened the door.

“Blimey mate, your toga’s crooked,” said Bregans. Before Philus could say anything, he added, “I need your help writing something. Do you know how to write?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, splendid. I have to write, er…” Bregans quickly looked around. He knew exactly how suspicious he looked, but he had to think of something or else Philus would slam the door in his face. “I have to write a letter to my brother.”

“Bregans, your brother is dead.”

“Well, yeah,” he agreed. “I have to send him something to aid his journey through the afterlife, and I wanted to include a card.”

“That’s not how that works, amicus. You have to put all that stuff in his tomb right when he dies. You can’t just mail things to the underworld.”

“Oh,” said Bregans. 

“Good night, Bregans,” said Philus pointedly. Bregans took his foot out of the doorway and Philus slammed the door in his face.

It was only a few hours past sunset. Volubilis was already on a ship headed to Belgica. He had been sharing food and stories with the ship’s crew. They were all friendly young men, and came from all corners of the globe: One from Persia, another from Graecia, and yet another hailing from Pictavia (if the brightly dyed tunic and iron paint all over his body were any indication). Volubilis got along quite well with all of them.

“Hey,” said Farhad, “did I ever tell you about how my brother and sister-in-law got together? They hated each other at first, but then one of his friends tricked them both into thinking they loved each other, but were too afraid to say. Then eventually they got married.”

“That reminds me of the time my twin sister and I were shipwrecked. She thought I was dead, so she disguised herself as a man and ended up helping a duke get some woman to fall in love with him. But after we were shipwrecked, I had actually been rescued by a sea captain who hated the duke,” said Kallistos. “But then the girl that the duke was in love with actually fell in love with my sister disguised as a man. So then, when I arrived with the sea captain, the woman thought that I was the man my sister was disguised as, and she asked me to marry her.”

“What about you, Volubilis?” Farhad asked. 

Volubilis shrugged. “I come from a farm near Noviomagus Reginorum,” he said. “My master was cruel to us. Then he got tied up in local politics and last I heard, he had tried to convince some haruspex to commit regicide.”

“Cor blimey, mate,” said Aethelraed, who was unsure of what else he could say.

“Wait, King Cogidubnus was murdered?” Kallistos asked.

“You’ve heard of him?” Volubilis said. “Well no, he just died. He was really old after all. Salvius did kill the Cantiacian chieftain though. I was there. And to be honest, I wouldn’t have pulled out all the stops to make the best garum I’ve ever crafted, if I’d known our dinner guest was going to get murdered halfway through the meal. It was such a waste. Salvius wouldn’t even let us eat the extra.”

“I bet somebody could ruin his life with that information,” Kallistos said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Volubilis agreed. “That sucks for him. So Farhad, tell me about your brother again. Who knew about the trick? Did you help?”

“I did. We didn’t think it was going to work at first…”

When the ship docked, Volubilis left his new friends in Belgica and departed for Valentia. For weeks he traveled across the continent, meeting new people and seeing new sights. He went south, all the way to the other side of the continent, near Mare Nostrum. Finally he stood at the gates of Rome. It was not yet his time to enter. Volubilis touched the stone wall that had kept out Hannibal, the Celts, and several groups of Goths faithfully. “Soon,” he said. Then he went down the road and left the great city behind him.

His next stop was Spain. So, after a short road trip montage, he arrived in Valentia. He was going to train under the legendary master. The laetus coquus, the man who escaped Pompeii. If Grumio would take him under his wing, then perhaps Volubilis could become the second best chef in the entire fucking Roman Empire. 

He met Grumio on a stormy day. The master chef was sleeping outside his humble abode, peacefully unaware of the dark clouds gathering above. Volubilis ran to wake him up and warn him about the storm.

“What is it?” Grumio cried as he awoke. “It wasn’t me!”

“You’re Grumio!” Volubilis said. 

“Yes, that’s me. What do you want?”

“It’s about to rain, sir. You were asleep and you would have gotten wet.”

Grumio looked up at the sky, and down at Volubilis. “So I would have. Thank you, young man. Come inside, allow me to craft a meal for you.”

“Actually, that’s why I wanted to find you,” Volubilis said. “I want you to train me to become the second best chef in the entire Roman Empire.”

Grumio stared at him thoughtfully. “I suppose I can do that,” he said. “Now come inside. Like you said, it’s about to rain. We can eat, then I can begin to train you.”

On the farm of Salvius, at that very moment, Bregans approached Philus after a long day of sleeping in the fields. “Hi, Philus,” he said. “Can you teach me how to write?”

“Why?” Philus asked.

“Because I want to make a welcome home banner for Salvius.”

“Bregans, Salvius is already home,” said Philus. “It only works if you made one before he got back from Rome.”

“Maybe he would appreciate one now since he didn’t get one,” Bregans suggested.

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Not really. I was asleep and now it’s too late to do anything, so I’d consider myself done for the day.”

“Go away, Bregans. I’m not going to teach you how to write,” Philus said disgustedly. 

In Valentia, Grumio taught Volubilis almost everything he knew. There were some things that simply could not be passed from teacher to student. There were some things that Grumio alone could master, and some fields in which no one else could ever surpass him. Volubilis was a diligent student, however. Every morning he would carry Grumio on his back up and down a mountain. Then they would begin to cook. In the evening Volubilis would enter a small cave about a mile away from Grumio’s home, and meditate alone. Because as the laetus coquus said: once he mastered his own mind, then he could master the hearth and stove. Then he and Grumio would cook dinner, and after dinner, the wine would flow like the Tiber. 

“You know,” Grumio said one night, “I’ve trained many young chefs in my time, but I believe you’re my greatest student. You have great potential, Volubilis, my boy. You are almost done with your training. Once you become a master, then you must go to Rome and establish a restaurant.”

“I will do so, Master Grumio,” Volubilis said. “I swear it.”

Not long after, he said goodbye to his sensei. He then traveled directly to Rome, where this time, he entered the gates into the bustling city. He established a fine dining establishment which he called McDomhnall’s, and served flat pieces of meat between two round pieces of bread, and potatoes cut into thin slabs. The potatoes resembled chips of wood or stone, so naturally, Volubilis called them “chips”. McDomhnall’s became the most popular eatery in all of Rome. And it was even featured in a verse of the great poet Gaius Fierus’ epic, which detailed the many restaurants he had visited. Soon, the business opportunities expanded. It turned out that everyone wanted to know more about Volubilis and his insane cooking skills. The Romans wanted more. They wanted live performances.

So that’s how Volubilis found himself standing in the theater of Pompey, empty for now, and looking around the stage. There were several tables set up, food stored in large crates, and a few ovens in which servants stoked roaring fires. The contestants were no doubt shaking in fear where they stood hidden backstage, as Volubilis planned.

It was not his first time showing this “Dominus Coquus” program. He was prepared for the crowds to pour in, senators and servants both equal under his rain of fiery insults. This was only a side job. All he had to do was scream at the subpar cooks, and he would get paid. Very soon, the first few would arrive at the theater, and in under an hour, the contestants would begin to cook.

The crowds trickled in like a stream, then a roaring river as it grew nearer to the show. Before Volubilis’ eyes, the entire theater filled up. Now it was time to cook. The first challenge? Garum.

The terrified cooks scrambled to cook the best sauce (though they could never, for it was Volubilis who could cook the best sauce). He watched every contestant, sometimes making intense eye contact with them in order to make them extremely uncomfortable. He went over to a contestant at random, deciding that it was time to begin the verbal abuse that characterized Dominus Coquus.

Volubilis held up two pieces of bread on each side of the cook’s face. “What are you?!” he demanded.

“A caudex sandwich,” said the cook sadly.

“Correct. Now go back and make some food that is actually edible, instead of this burnt rubbish you call sauce. Your presence on this stage insults me.”

The crowd cheered. There was nothing that the Romans loved more than a verbal smackdown, except maybe gladiator fights. Volubilis circled around the stage, watching the proceedings with a sharp eye and insulting every possible thing there was to insult, until finally, the cooks’ spirits had been completely broken and the garum was done. 

The cooks were not the only ones with broken spirits. Not only had Bregans worn Philus down enough to get him to teach him how to write, but Bregans was such a terrible student that Philus wished every day for Bregans to get bored of it and give up. But he would not. Bregans was determined to learn how to write, and by the gods, he was going to do it. Every day he snapped a wax tablet in half, sometimes by accident, sometimes in rage. And every day he forgot the whole alphabet and had to start over. But he was still determined. 

All of his hard work paid off in the end. As Volubilis made many young chefs wish they had never been born, Bregans made many wax tablets wish they had never been born. Both men became successful in their own way. 

After a while Bregans decided it was time to make the curse tablet. In the middle of the night, he scratched out some messy letters on a piece of metal and flung it into Aquae Sulis. Then he went back to the farm and silently thanked both Philus and Sulis Minerva. 

Several weeks later in Rome, Volubilis’ restaurant was not doing so well. A woman came in frequently with her three children, ordered the most complicated thing on the menu, and complained even if they got it exactly right. Volubilis himself had to take her order every time because no other cashier would go near her.

“Ma’am, I’m very sorry,” he was saying to another slightly less demanding customer one day, having taken over for the overworked XVII year old cashier. “I can’t fix our apple machine, you’ll just have to—”

“Oi, Volubilis!” cried a familiar voice. It was a voice he had not heard in months. The voice was attached to a blue-painted, gaily-decorated young man with a strange northern accent. 

“Aethelraed?” said Volubilis, astonished. “Excuse me, I must attend to this gentleman—Aethelraed, why are you here? Fancy some McDomhnall’s?”

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right? But I’m not here for that,” Aethelraed said. “I came straight away from Mancunium.”

“Mancunium!” Volubilis exclaimed. “You must tell me about your travels!”

“There’s no time. Do you know Philus?”

“Maybe. Is he really smart? And won’t stop talking?”

“Yes, that’s him.” Aethelraed was visibly relieved. “You won’t believe how I ran into him. What a coincidence. You see, I went from Belgica straight to Moscovia. And let me tell you, they do wonderful things with potatoes over there. I could get you a recipe if you want. Well after Moscovia, I was going to go back to Fortriu (I’m an Albidosi), but on the way back I decided to hit up Varsavia and Monachium. And then once I got back to the isle—oh by the way I never did end up getting to Fortriu after all, I turned around and came right back—because I had to go through Mancunium on my way up north, and you’ll never guess who I ran into there!”

“I’m assuming it was Philus,” Volubilis said. “How’d you run into him?”

“With my wagon. Well, anyway, I apologized and we went out for drinks because they were having trivia night at this one place, and by the way, we won, because I think we were the only ones there who knew how to write. So we got this one question about some verse from _Popinae, Cogete, Tabernaeque_ and that kinda reminded me of your new Dominus Coquus thing, so afterwards we were talking, and I mentioned the program, I mean it’s a really inventive idea, and he said ‘Volubilis? I used to work with that guy!’ And I said ‘No way, I sailed with him from Suthseaxe to Belgica!’ And then he told me he thinks you’ve been cursed. So here I am.”

“Well, er, thank you, but why does he think I’ve been cursed?”

“He told me that he suspects Bregans did it, although he doesn’t know how. He’s worried that something terrible will happen to you.”

Volubilis looked troubled.

“What is it?” Aethelraed demanded.

“I think it’s best if you come with me, my dear chap,” Volubilis said, and the pair began walking out of McDomhnall’s. “Something has already happened, and if what you say is true, and Bregans has cursed me, then… I may have to return to Britannia.”

“What happened?”

“There was somewhat a mishap involving my restaurant. A woman keeps threatening to sue me. Maybe it is best that I go back to the farm.”

“Then I will travel with you,” Aethelraed said. “How quickly can we leave?”

“Tomorrow,” Volubilis declared. “Tally ho!”

Thus it was decided. The friends would set off in search of whatever it was, curse or not, that had been vexing Volubilis.

The next day, Volubilis and Aethelraed departed for Britannia. By this time, several years had passed since Volubilis first boarded the ship leaving his home. Would Britannia still be familiar to him? Would his old friends still feel like friends?

These questions were answered soon after they arrived on the isle. They approached the familiar farm, the route to which Volubilis still knew by heart. As they grew nearer, they saw one single person waiting on the road; a person that Volubilis knew very well. It was Philus. Surprisingly, Philus was seen by the pair before he was heard.

“Hello, Volubilis!” he cried as they got closer. “Thank the gods you’re here! Aethelraed, my dear fellow, splendid to see you again!”

“Quite,” Aethelraed said.

“Now we mustn’t waste time,” Philus said. “You’ve been cursed, Volubilis. I’m sure of it. Bregans has been acting quite suspicious lately. But I cannot even imagine what he might have done.”

“Cursed?” Volubilis smacked his forehead. “Of course! The baths, we must check the baths! Wait, did I really need to come all the way back here just for this?”

“Well sorry, but you’re here now,” Philus said. “Come on, we might as well start looking there.”

They hurried to the baths of Aquae Sulis. Volubilis, eager to find any piece of evidence, immediately jumped in and looked over the bottom of the pool with the sharp eye that he often fixed on underperforming cooks. Aethelraed and Philus did the same. 

“None of these say anything about Volubilis,” Aethelraed said, holding up several tablets. “Ouch. Who’s Morcant? Poor bloke.”

“What’s it say?” Philus asked.

“Er, may his heart be full of toads and his home be full of sorrow,” Aethelraed said. “Wait, no, other way round.”

“Aha!” Volubilis cried. He held up a small metal ring. “‘MCDOMHNALL’S MORIENDVM EST (ET MCDOMHNALL’S STVLTVS EST).’ This is it! This is what began my restaurant’s downfall!”

“But how can you be certain that it was Bregans who did it?” Aethelraed interjected.

Volubilis frowned. “Hmm. Actually, you’re correct. I forgot, Bregans can’t write. It must be someone else then.”

“Oh, er, actually,” Philus said, “apparently Bregans does know how to write. He told me a little while ago that he picked it up as a hobby. I guess the midlife crisis hit him a little early.”

“That seems rather convenient, but it is plausible,” Volubilis said agreeably. “Well, then, now all we have to do is confront him about it and we’ll have our answer. Now let’s find the caudex and grill him.”

The trio split up once they arrived back at the farm. Perhaps it was a good thing that it was only Philus who found their prime suspect. Perhaps Volubilis would have scarred him for life, both physically and emotionally. Perhaps we’ll never know. Philus brandished his whacking stick, Alexander the Simply Alright. Bregans turned around and said, “Oh, hey, Philus. What’s Alex doing here?” Then Philus whacked him and pulled a grain sack over his head. He dragged Bregans unconscious into the house, where he set him up in a currently unused room, and lit a single dim candle. He tied Bregans to a chair and waited for him to wake up.

Bregans finally groaned, awake at last. “Where am I!” he screamed once he noticed he had been bound to the chair.

Philus pulled the grain sack off his head. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, Bregans,” he said, “and it would be in your best interest to answer them.”

“What is this, an interrogation?!”

“I’M THE ONE ASKING QUESTIONS AROUND HERE!” Philus shouted. “Now where were you on the Ides of Iulius?”

Later, Philus met up with Volubilis and Aethelraed, who were still quite confused. “The situation is taken care of,” he told them cryptically. “Now, Volubilis, why don’t you stay for Saturnalia dinner?”

“That’s insane! What would Salvius say?” Volubilis asked. 

“I don’t think he would mind. He’s quite taken with your Dominus Coquus program, you know.”

“Well in that case, I guess I could,” Volubilis agreed. “What about Aethelraed?”

“Of course he’s welcome as well.”

Salvius did, in fact, welcome Volubilis back as a celebrity, not as an ex-cook. So that night, the friends, family, and household staff of Salvius gathered around the table together. They had spent the previous few hours putting ornaments on the Saturnalia tree. Loquax and Anti-Loquax wore little paper crowns and kept scaring the adults by setting off crackers, until they were confiscated by Varica. Everyone had a good time from the egg to the apple. All except one, Volubilis noticed. 

“Whatever happened to Bregans?” he asked Philus, once the entire group was gathered around the tree and opening presents. “After the interrogation, I mean. Wasn’t that hours ago?”

“Bregans?” Philus said. “Oh, I took him out back of the barn and decked him like the halls. Happy Saturnalia, everyone.”

And it was. Well, for everyone except Bregans.

**Author's Note:**

> my teacher told us to keep it pg-13 and so i spent about fifteen brain cells trying to figure out where to put the fuck


End file.
